


I Know Who I Want To Take Me Home

by gyzym



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyzym/pseuds/gyzym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's possible that Tyler has mis-evaluated the location of the bro line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know Who I Want To Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> A few brief things before we begin: 
> 
> 1) This is a fictional story about fictional characters based on the real cast of the show Teen Wolf! Tyler Posey really did win an ALMA award (go Tyler!) and he [really did give an interview about wanting Scott to make out with Dylan next season](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IMsgjLsv_Fg); he and Dylan really do share an apartment, and Dylan really does sometimes call him 'T.' Other than that, I made up, uh, everything contained in this tale. As such, a lot of things, especially Dylan's randomly-being-in-London, probably don't line up with the realities of the people these characters are based on. Fiction! Hooray! 
> 
> 2) Speaking of how this is fiction? You guys, please, please, please, pleeeeease do not tweet or tumble or otherwise link this to anyone involved in the production of Teen Wolf. Please? Please. The fourth wall gets shakier and shakier every day, but I really like being on the side of it where the real people who have been so great to and accepting towards and enthusiastic about fandom _don't_ have to know I wrote this ridiculous story about them. Okay? :D?
> 
> 3) A MILLION THANKS to [amazonziti](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amazonziti) and [fiveyearmission](http://fiveyearmission.tumblr.com/) for their awesome beta job and general enabling of this story, oh man oh man. YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME. <3

So Dylan left. 

Tyler thinks that was probably the last straw. Or, like, the first straw. Or whatever, it doesn't really matter which straw it was, because the point is that for a while everything was amazing and Tyler was living with Dylan and working with Dylan and hanging out with Dylan and dicking around on new songs with Dylan, and then Dylan left. It should have been fine-- _no_ , Tyler reminds himself. It _was_ fine. It still is! Fine! Because Dylan has a career to build and so does Tyler and it's not like Dylan moved _out_ or anything, he just went to do some filming on some stupid locations that weren't in LA. Which is great! And awesome! And Tyler can totally handle his life without Dylan. Tyler is not dependent on Dylan's awesome in any way. The whole reason that he and Dylan work, as coworkers and roommates and fake best friends and real best friends, is because they each bring copious amounts of individual awesome to the table. 

But still. Dylan left. And without Dylan, their apartment is kind of…just an apartment, which of course it was before but now it's…. Okay, he's just going to have to cut to the chase and be honest with himself: the truth is, he misses Dylan. Like, a lot. Like, more than he was expecting to, which is weird. Usually when Tyler runs up against a situation like this, he can pretty much guess how intense his feelings are going to be. When he was a kid, he used to brace himself before Jesse went away for summer camp, and even as an adult he sometimes finds himself taking deep breaths in front of a mirror when he thinks someone is about to dump him or something. Tyler prepared himself, when he and Dylan compared summer schedules, to miss him a little. He really did. 

What he didn't prepare himself for was missing Dylan the way he _actually_ misses Dylan. He keeps finding himself pulling out his phone to text him before he realizes he doesn't actually have anything to say. He keeps lifting his head at little noises in the night, excited until he realizes it was just someone in the apartment upstairs, not Dylan coming home months early. It's pretty ridiculous. Tyler thinks he should probably be working on getting it to stop. 

He's not, though. Working on getting it to stop, that is. Tyler's a busy guy, okay, and between his music and his work and his family and all these promo appearances MTV wants him to do, he doesn't exactly have time to stay on top of the not-missing-Dylan thing. It's not like he even knows what he would do, if he had time to do something. Are there rules to not missing people? Is there even actually a way to make it stop? Tyler's been thinking about that lately, and kind of concluded probably not. If missing someone was an optional thing, there would probably be fewer songs about it. 

But the point is that's it's fine, it's just a thing, it's the first straw or the last straw or whichever straw, only then Tyler wins the ALMA Award. He wins the fucking ALMA Award! And he's standing up there on the stage with this statuette in his hand that he never in a million years thought would go to him and thinking about how he just beat out _Benjamin Bratt_ for an award while reaching for something to say and thanking his _dog_ and it just…hits him. He walks off the stage and it's pretty much the most amazing moment of his life and all he wants is for Dylan to come around the corner, grin huge and eyes proud, and open his arms so Tyler can strut across the room to hug him. He wants Dylan to hold onto him the way only Dylan does, laughing soft into his ear and saying "I knew you'd get it, didn't I tell you, I totally told you, dude. You should've prepared a speech." He wants to maybe shake for a second under Dylan's warm hands, because holy shit, _holy shit_ , this is happening, this is real. He wants Dylan in front of him, with him, and instead Dylan's…wherever Dylan is right now, and Tyler has to carry all this euphoria by himself. 

That's more than missing someone, Tyler knows. Wanting to share victories, wanting to store bits of your joy in another person, that part of him that's always itching to touch Dylan, to press their bodies together, to take Dylan's face in his hands and…shit, that's something else _entirely_. 

(When he checks his phone later, there's a text from Dylan that says, _I knew you'd get it, didn't I tell you? I totally told you, dude. You should've prepared a speech. CONGRATS!!!!_. It doesn't really help.) 

\--

So, okay, all of this is how he ends up on the red carpet for the Pitch Perfect premiere, dressed like Dylan and thinking about Dylan and kind of talking to a reporter about how he wants an excuse to make out with Dylan next season, whoops. It's not like he _meant_ to say anything about it, not really. He was just excited! About the movie! And the girl from HollywireTV is always really nice, and kind of hot in a not-quite-Tyler's-type sort of way, and she always makes a point to ask him about his band. He likes her, and so he lets his guard down and yeah, okay, mentions about how he'd like to stick his tongue in Dylan's mouth. But it's not a big deal, because Dylan says way more ridiculous stuff all the time, and also he and Hoechlin were all over each other on a boat in that video that the entire internet cares about, so. Tyler figures he's probably safe from anyone reading too much into it. He goes into the movie, and the movie is awesome. He forgets about it. 

Two days later, his phone rings. "Hello?" 

" _I want Scott to make out with Dylan next season_?" Crystal says, in that voice that almost always means she's laughing at him.

Tyler grins. "Hey, me too! I mean, not that making out with you isn't great and everything--"

"No," Crystal says, "oh my god, Tyler, no. You _said that_. In an _interview_." 

"Oh," Tyler says. He shifts to hold his phone between his shoulder and his ear, and digs around in his fridge for a beer. He's down to his last, like, three of them, which is another problem with Dylan being gone--Tyler won't be old enough to buy his own beer for an entire month. "Yeah, guess I did. So?" 

Crystal sighs, and Tyler wonders if she's making that face she makes sometimes when they're shooting, when Tyler keeps making her laugh too hard for either of them to get their lines right. " _So_. Are there maybe some feelings you want to talk about? Some dirty laundry you'd like to air?" 

"I don't get that expression," Tyler confesses, cracking open a Bud Light. "Dirty laundry smells, why would anybody want to--" 

"Tyler! I don't want to talk about dirty laundry!" Crystal sounds frustrated now, and Tyler takes a sip of his beer. This turns out to be a mistake, because she chooses that exact moment to add, "I want to talk about how you have clearly wanted to hook up with Dylan for, um, _ever_ , and how it is so not okay that you told a reporter before you told me." 

Beer through the nose, Tyler decides, is pretty much the worst thing ever. Except for the thing where Crystal knows about how he wants to hook up with Dylan, which is _absolutely_ the worst thing ever. Beer through the nose can be number two. 

"Hold on," he chokes out, and puts the phone down on the counter. He can hear that Crystal's saying something, but it's all kind of registering as distant squeaking sounds because he's so far away from the phone. He looks around, but the entire kitchen is devoid of anything like a paper towel because Dylan, not Tyler, is the person in their house who says things like, "Dude, we're out of milk" and "Seriously, let’s just steal some toilet paper from set or something, okay? People can't live like this. _I_ can't live like this." Without Dylan, Tyler's life is sort of a shambles. A shambles where Crystal knows everything and he can't wipe the beer off his face because he keeps forgetting to buy fucking paper towels. 

Eventually he gives up and wipes his face on an oven mitt. When he picks up the phone again, Crystal's saying, "--can't avoid me by making choking noises, I know you're not driving through a tunnel, I'm _not buying it_." 

"There was beer in my nose, okay?" Tyler says. It sounds kind of pathetic, which is okay, because Tyler feels kind of pathetic right now. "I don't…do we have to talk about this?" 

"Yes," Crystal says, "we do. Do you want to know why?" 

"Probably not?" 

"Well, I'm going to tell you anyway," Crystal says. Tyler can almost bet that wherever she is right now, she's smiling all intense and life-ruining--Crystal, for all her kindness, is pretty evil deep down. "How do you think I found out about this interview?" 

"Uh," Tyler says, "the internet?" 

Crystal's smugness is horrible. "No, Tyler. That's how _Holland_ found out about it." 

"Oh, god," Tyler says, because…because, well, _oh god._ If Holland knows about how Tyler wants to bone Dylan, then it's a pretty good bet that everyone… "Hey, wait! How did you know that I want to bone Dylan just from that interview? I could've just been kidding around!" 

"Okay, well, first of all, you just confirmed it," Crystal says. Tyler winces, and then winces again at how much it hurts to wrinkle his nose when it's still sort of full of beer, and then very carefully stops moving his face at all. "And, secondly, you said you wanted Scott to make out with Dylan. Not Stiles, Dylan. And we know you. You've been kind of…ridiculously obvious about it." 

"No I haven't!" 

"Yeah, you have." 

"That's not even _possible_ ," Tyler snaps, "okay? Because I didn't even, like, know. Until the other day, anyway." 

There is silence on the end of the line. After a minute, Crystal says, "…What?" 

Tyler narrows his eyes at his beer can, trying to decide if he trusts it enough to pick it up again. It betrayed him last time. "You heard me." 

"No, you're right, I heard you, just…what?" Tyler's not sure he's ever sound Crystal sound bewildered before. "But you're…you touch him all the time! You talk about him! Constantly! You're always making these faces at him like you totally love him--" 

"Well, yeah, duh, that's because I totally love him," Tyler says. He rolls his eyes at the ringing silence, and says, "Look, okay, I just--he's just _Dylan_ , alright? And when he's around it's awesome, and I just kind of…didn't think about it. Until he wasn't around." 

"Oh my god," Crystal says. "I can't even talk to you right now." 

Then, without saying anything else, she hangs up. Tyler stares at his phone for a long minute, and then shrugs, pockets it, and decides to play Halo. She'll probably call back. She usually does. 

\--

"So I've decided you need to woo Dylan, properly, and in the grand tradition of romance," Crystal says, when Tyler answer the phone the next afternoon. "He's an actor, he'll appreciate it, and it will absolutely make up for how I'm sure he's been thinking you were completely leading him on all these months. So! I checked his flights and he gets back to town the day after tomorrow, and Holland booked you a table at this restaurant called--" 

"Dude, no, Dylan hates fancy restaurants," Tyler says, because any restaurant Holland picked out will undoubtedly be fancy as hell. "All the different forks make him nervous and he's always afraid that he's going to knock something over and-- _holy shit what_?" 

"Holy shit what to which part?" 

"Um," Tyler says, blinking at his television screen, " _all of it_?" 

"Okay, I'm going to need some--" 

"The day after _tomorrow_?" Tyler feels like maybe if he says it loud enough he will turn out to be talking about that disaster movie with Dennis Quaid in it and not _when Dylan is getting back to LA holy shit holy shit holy shit_. "What, I thought he wasn't going to be back until--" 

"The end of September?" Crystal says brightly. "Which, uh, it is?" 

"Oh my god the apartment is so dirty," Tyler says, kind of breathless. It's the least of his worries, but also, right now, the best of them. "Like, so dirty, fuck, I haven't done laundry in like three weeks--" 

"Ew." 

"Well!" Tyler says, a little wildly. "I was--busy!" 

"With pining over Dylan?" 

"Yes!" Wait. "No!" 

"Tyler--" 

"Okay you cannot," Tyler takes a deep breath, and then another one. He can do this. He can totally do this. "Look, Crystal, you can't--no fancy restaurants, okay? No…no plans! No _schemes_. Oh, fuck, you didn't tell him, did you? Did Holland tell him? Fuck, fuck, did Holland tell _Colton_?"

"Whoa," Crystal says, laughing on it a little. "Tyler, calm down. God, it figures this is the one thing that can freak you out." 

"Well!" Tyler says again. "You don't--this isn't, like, a funny game to me! This is, you don't, I don't think Dylan even _swings_ that way." 

"No, I think he probably does." Crystal sounds like she's put some serious thought into this, which is a comfort until she adds, "I mean, he's definitely admitted that Hoechlin is attractive, and--" 

"That doesn't count!" Tyler is pretty sure this what it feels like to lose your mind. "That's, that's _Hoechlin_ , he's made of like, marble! And…marble!" 

"I was _going_ to say," Crystal says, sighing on it, "that he also, you know, totally makes the googly eyes right back at you all the time. And talks about you just as much as you talk about him. Maybe more, actually. You know the whole crew thinks you're dating, right?" 

"I," Tyler says, "you--no! No, I did not know that! Why didn't anybody, like, tell me that?" 

"We kind of assumed you knew," Crystal says. It's warmer than he's heard her sound in a while, and he finds himself thinking of the day they filmed that scene where Scott's mom gets captured by Gerard, months and months ago now. Melissa'd done a great job with it, but that headspace--Tyler's mind bouncing around with thoughts of what he'd do if he were Scott, if it were _his_ mom being choked out like that--had been kind of toxic and awful. He hadn't known how to say anything about it, though, because it seemed weird and pretty stupid to be upset over literally nothing. 

Crystal came and found him out behind the soundstage, smoking a cigarette with shaking hands during the union break. She leaned into his shoulder and talked for awhile about Allison's character motivations, and where they were all going to dinner later, and how ridiculous J.R.'s motorcycle fixation was, until Tyler felt more like himself. He trusts Crystal, even if she is kind of almost as evil as Holland sometimes and thinks it's funny to make faces at him when he's supposed to be acting. She's probably not _trying_ to freak him the fuck out. 

"Crystal," he says, more than a little mournfully, "what do I _do_?" 

"Well, I think its pretty obvious that you have to do _something_ ," Crystal says gently. "I mean, I'll hold off on the scheming if you're going to man up and be an adult about it, but…this is really getting to you, isn't it?" 

"Kind of." Telling silence. "Fine, yeah. But, like, he's my best friend and--"

"Okay, no," Crystal says, with the sudden, terrible application of the badass voice. Tyler winces, because this never leads anywhere good, and sure enough: "I am not a relationship coach, and seriously, Tyler, hasn't TV taught you that 'But we're best friends' angst is pointless?" 

Tyler makes a face at the wall. "No." 

Crystal sighs, long-suffering. "If you want someone to hold your hand, call Hoechlin. I'm just here to give you the facts: you want on that, I'm pretty sure he wants on that, everybody and their brother kind of thinks you've both been on that for months, and if you don't get your shit together before we start shooting again I'm going to involve you in schemes. Are we clear?" 

"Yes, Crystal." Another round of telling silence, and Tyler rolls his eyes and adds, "Thank you, Crystal." 

"You're welcome," Crystal says. "Now promise to keep me updated, and in exchange I'll make sure Holland doesn't touch it for at least three days." 

"Three--"

"Days," Crystal confirms. "Oh, don't pout at me, I can hear you pouting. He's getting back in _two_ days, so that's plenty of time." 

"I hate you," Tyler says, throwing himself down across his couch. "Like, a lot. Like so much, Crystal, okay?" 

"I'm sure Dylan will be relieved to hear that," Crystal says. "Bye now!" 

Then, because she is a terrible person, she hangs up. Tyler stares up at the ceiling and despairs, kind of drastically, of his life. 

\--

So, what Tyler should have done with his night, after Crystal hung up, was clean the apartment. In the cold light of the next morning, with hangover making his mouth taste like something crawled inside it to die, everything is very clear to him--he should've put on some music and, like, scrubbed something. Or done his laundry. Or at very least gone out and bought some fucking paper towels, because he's pretty sure that if he keeps using that oven mitt like a napkin it's going to get pretty gross pretty quickly. What Tyler should have done was put on his big boy pants and done a passable impression of a grownup. He's an actor! He can totally act like an adult when the situation demands it. 

Only no, he can't, because what he actually did was spend ten minutes trying not to think about Dylan, and then fifteen minutes having some intense private time in the shower while very much failing at not thinking about Dylan, and then twenty minutes freaking out about the previous fifteen minutes. 

So he called an emergency band practice. It seemed like the thing to do. 

It's not that he regrets it, exactly. Disappearing Jamie, being more mature and evolved now that they are not Lost in Kostko, needs his attention and his focus and his mad guitar skills. Also, the guys took him out and got him pretty wasted after they wrapped for the night. It was nice, letting the music drag him away from the whole Dylan thing, and then letting the alcohol drag him away from, like, things in general--it wasn't a _bad_ choice, not really. It was a good night.

It's just that now it's 11:45 AM and Dylan's coming home tomorrow and the whole apartment is dirty and Crystal's going to make him do schemes if he doesn't figure something out and he's tired and _he's in love with Dylan oh god oh god oh god_.

Tyler decides to go back to sleep, and fails. Then he decides to lie on the couch and watch Food Network until he gets hungry, which is actually a success. Two hours later he's seen a really hot lady talk about mozzarella cheese, a sort of hot dude talk about something called cacciatore, and eaten most of a pizza by himself. 

The food in his stomach settles him, and he gets up with new determination, flicking the television off. This is not a disaster. This is not the end of the world. Tyler is just going to clean his apartment and not freak out about this, because, again, it's not that big a deal. He's not going to think about Dylan, because all thinking about Dylan will do is make him all nervous again. Which is unnecessary! Because everything is fine! And nothing's wrong! And Tyler's going to clean his apartment like an adult! 

He gets through most of the kitchen without issue, throwing out empty cereal boxes and putting enough dishes in the dishwasher that he actually finds the sponge, which has been missing for almost a month. It looks like it's maybe grown some sort of fur, and Tyler stares at it for awhile, wondering if he should keep it until tomorrow to show Dylan. Then he realizes he's thinking about Dylan again and throws the sponge into the garbage with great prejudice. _Then_ he realizes that he probably needs a sponge to like, keep cleaning things, and goes to the store. 

The store takes almost an hour, because he's recognized by a teenager who wants an autograph and a photo and can he do a recording on her voicemail and does he think Scott will finally love Derek next season and is it true that he and Dylan O'Brien really live together? Tyler doesn't mind anything but the Dylan question, honestly--he kind of looks like shit today, because hangover and generalized romantic panic, but it's always nice to run into a fan. It's still kind of surreal, when people recognize him on the street or while he's finally getting around to picking up the fucking paper towels. He signs his name on the back of a piece of paper her apologetic father provides, throws his arm around her shoulder for the photo, records a ridiculous voicemail greeting on her phone, and tells her that he loves Hoechlin more than Scott will ever love Derek and that, yes, he and Dylan really do share an apartment. She looks thrilled when her father finally drags her away, and Tyler thinks it's nice, getting to make people happy this way. He could see how it'd get invasive eventually, but today he still likes it. 

It's kind of a let-down, though, going from that to the front counter of the store, where the check-out girl looks down at his purchase of paper towels, a sponge, fourteen packages of that gum Dylan's always chewing and six different brands of energy drink, and makes an unimpressed face. Tyler thinks there should probably be a happy medium of people reacting to you--when everything is either "Wow you're amazing!" or "Wow you are sad," you're probably doing something wrong. 

Still, he goes home again, starts cleaning again, finishes the kitchen and pushes into the living room and comes face to face with a distressing realization. That distressing realization is this: he does not actually really need to be cleaning the apartment, or planning to fill it with Dylan's favorite gum, or, like, anything. At all. If Dylan comes home tomorrow and the apartment is a mess, he'll laugh and ask if Tyler wants to blaze. If Dylan comes home tomorrow and all Tyler's laundry is strewn across the floor, Dylan will crash down on the couch talking a mile a minute about how much airports suck. If Dylan comes home tomorrow and the whole place is empty of his favorite gum, he'll probably already have some in his pocket anyway. Because his ears pop on airplanes if he doesn't chew on something, and he knows what Tyler is like and doesn't care, hasn't ever cared--has always seemed, against all odds, to like it. 

This is exactly why he wasn't supposed to think about Dylan. Dylan, Tyler thinks mournfully, is perfect. He's not _actually_ perfect, of course, because that would be ridiculous--people aren't perfect, not ever, not really. But all of the things about Dylan that are weird and off-beat and even wrong (because, okay, Tyler loves Dylan but the way Dylan feels about Blink-182 is _wrong_ ) don't bother Tyler. They don't ever give Tyler any trouble, because they're just Dylan things, like the way he would worry that they'd left the door unlocked every time they left the apartment for the first like, month, or the way he's always dancing for no reason, or the way Tyler sometimes finds him awake at three in the morning, curled up small on the couch and rubbing his knuckles together. 

And all of Tyler's _Tyler_ things, like the way he sometimes needs a good run-up to a thought before he can really wrap his brain around it, or the way he always makes Dylan taste the milk when he thinks it's gone bad, or the way he'll throw drumsticks at Dylan in the middle of a random conversation and make them do the rest of it to music, have never been a problem either. It's part of why they work together, always has been, this weird little brain-meld thing that started even before they were basically in each other's pockets all the time, and in retrospect Tyler thinks it's probably pretty stupid that he didn't realize he was in love with Dylan on, like, day one. Dylan's always been hot and kind of ridiculous with the big Bambi eyes, and he's never minded the way Tyler touches him all the time, but maybe he should have minded. Maybe if he'd minded Tyler would have thought about _why he was doing it_ , and he wouldn't be in this situation. 

He stares at the living room, takes a deep breath, and has a beer. And then another beer. He'd have a third beer, but he's out. 

"Okay, Posey," Tyler says to himself, in the firm tones of someone who knows what the fuck is up, "you are going to handle this. You are not going to get weird. You are going to do your laundry." 

Twenty seconds later, he's flat on his back on his couch, his phone already calling Dylan's number. Which is so stupid, because it's not like he can talk to Dylan _about Dylan_ , and he doesn't even know why he thought this was a good idea and--

"T!" Dylan sounds out of breath and excited and like he's partying somewhere--Tyler can hear people yelling in the background, a heavy bass beat underscoring the sound. "Dude, I'm at the _craziest_ party, there are so many people here I kind of wanna die, what's up?" 

Fuck. On the one hand, it's kind of…upsettingly good to hear Dylan's voice, but on the other hand, Tyler has no idea what to say to him. He probably should've worked this out before he put the call through. "Nothing much. Shit, you're probably in a different, like, time zone, right? My bad. I'll let you get back to--" 

"Sticking my foot in my mouth?" Dylan says, breathless. The background noise is receding. " _Waiting_ to stick my foot in my mouth? Because no, like, please don't, I've been looking for an excuse to get out of here for like an hour. I'm kind of thinking of picking up smoking just so I can, you know, have an excuse to leave these things--oh my god, hi!" 

Dylan's voice goes distant, like he's pulled the phone away from his ear, and Tyler figures he's probably run into someone he knows, or is at least supposed to know. He waits. He takes another deep breath. He kind of smiles, because he can just imagine Dylan hugging whoever-it-is and making a face at the phone over their shoulder, as if Tyler can see him, because that's what he's like. Everything is going to be fine. 

"Okay, so, sorry, I didn't catch it before--which, okay, you can't blame me, there's a guy in there wearing feathers and literally nothing else, this is insane--but, yeah, what's going on?" Dylan's voice is punctuated by sudden background silence, the sound of a door slamming shut, and there's the smile gone from Tyler's face. _Why_ hadn't he used Dylan's distraction to come up with an excuse for calling? What is wrong with him? 

_Stall_ , Tyler thinks, and says, "Where are you?" 

"Uh, London," Dylan says. "For that screen-test I told you about? I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna get it, but I'm also pretty sure I don't want to get it, so it's probably fine. I'm kind of ready to get home and not do anything for a while, honestly. This is all starting to get kind of…." He trails off, but Tyler knows what he means. Dylan bounces between thrilled with and overwhelmed by his life kind of a lot. Usually Dylan is the one freaking out! Usually Tyler is the calm one.

Which is probably why Tyler doesn't know what to do right now. And, also, is probably why he just says, "Yeah," in this voice that sounds kind of torn up and sad even to him.

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and then, all warm and soft and concerned, Dylan says, "Okay, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing," Tyler says, wincing. "Like, seriously, nothing, I just--" 

"Dude, that is such bullshit, you sound like hell," Dylan says, and, fuck, what the hell is Tyler supposed to tell him? He can't talk to Dylan about his Dylan problems! And, much as he'd like to, he can't exactly just be like _Wow, I am totally losing my shit and need to hear the sound of your voice for awhile_ , either. Tyler thinks that would probably be pretty revelatory, Dylan-problems wise. 

"Tyler?" Dylan says, and now he sounds kind of freaked out, which is awful. 

Tyler sighs and stares up at the ceiling for a second, and then says, "Okay. So, like, have you ever like…probably fucked something up? Like, something really important? Only you didn't realize what you were doing, which is why it got fucked up in the first place, and then you did realize and were like 'oh shit oh shit'? And then you like…couldn't stop thinking about it?" 

"Uh, yeah," Dylan says, after a long minute of silence that Tyler certainly does not spend panicking that Dylan has figured him out just from that. "That's kind of, you know, my generalized state of being. That thought process, I mean; it's not like things turn out to be completely fucked most of the time." 

"That sucks, though," Tyler says. "Thinking like that a lot, I mean." 

"Yeah," Dylan agrees, quiet. Then, jumping back into the whole soft/warm/concerned voice that is really _not helping anything_ , he adds, "But you don't usually have those problems, man. What happened?" 

"Oh, god." Tyler buries his face in a pillow for a second, pulling his mouth away just enough to moan, "I can't tell you." 

"What do you mean you can't tell me?" Dylan sounds all earnest now, serious and honest and like he really means it. "Tyler, of course you can tell me." 

Tyler buries his face deeper in the pillow and doesn't say anything. It's not fair that Dylan's being so nice about this, so _Dylan_ about this, because it'll just make it worse when it all comes out and they go from being best friends to awkward well-sorry-bro-I-don't-like-you-that-way… people. Are you even friends at that point? Is that what's going to happen to them, are they going to stop even being friends? Probably, Tyler thinks, more than a little terrified at the thought. He's not a very good liar, and Dylan will figure it out eventually, and then things will be weird, and Tyler won't even be able to make them not-weird because, again, he's not a very good liar--

"Are you hurt?" Dylan sounds out and out panicked now. "Is someone else hurt? You can't just call me up and tell me you can't tell me what's wrong and not _say_ anything else! Are you sick? Is the apartment burning down? Tyler! Say something! _Are you okay?_ " 

"Yeah," Tyler says, feeling like an asshole, "shit, yeah, sorry, it's--yeah. I'm fine. It's fine. Nothing's on fire and nobody's like, hurt or anything. I just. Fuck, I don't know what to _do_. Like, at all." 

"Okay," Dylan says. His voice is kind of shaking; Tyler's not sure why. "Okay. Well, look, whatever it is, I get back tomorrow, so just, like, sit tight? And then I'll get home--oh my god, wait, this isn't like, your calls aren't being monitored or something, right?" 

" _What_?" 

"Well, I don't know!" Dylan's waving his hands around on a street corner in London; Tyler can tell. "You sound--I just wanted to make sure this wasn't a spy movie all of a sudden, okay, this is a really weird phone call!" 

Tyler can't help but smile into the pillow, because this is a horrible disaster after all, but Dylan? Is ridiculous. "That's a big jump to make, bro." 

"I've had a couple of drinks," Dylan says defensively. "And you're--just, look, okay, whatever it is, we can fix it! Together! When I get back. Or at least make it better, or…or something, just don't sound so sad, that's awful. And so not what you're supposed to sound like and--crap, hold on a second, okay?" 

Someone is saying something in the background again, and Tyler doesn't even have the chance to try to figure out what before he hears Dylan yell "Fuck _off_ , man, I need a minute!" And that's…wrong, because Dylan doesn't yell at people. Oh, he'll roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment, and sometimes he yells _for_ people, usually Tyler, when he can't find them nearby. But he doesn't yell at people ever, because that's just not how he operates, and this is exactly why this whole thing is a terrible idea. Tyler does not need to be calling Dylan and crashing his last night in apparently-London by being weird and freaked out at him. He just doesn't. 

"No, go," he says, when he hears Dylan's breathing shift close again. He feels kind of wrecked and torn open and like his whole heart is breaking, and he shouldn't have called Dylan to begin with, because it's worse, now that he remembers why losing this is going to be the worst thing ever. "Go, seriously, it's okay, I'm fine, I shouldn't even have called." 

"What?" Dylan says, bewildered, "No, what are you talking about, I don't even want to--" 

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Tyler says, a little desperately. 

"Tyler, don't you dare--" 

Tyler hangs up. 

\--

So what Tyler meant to do was throw his arm over his face in despair. He managed that part, but he hadn't actually taken into account the hangover, or the stress of the day, or how dark it would be underneath his arm. This is probably why he ends up napping in despair instead, starting awake when he feels someone jab him in the chest. 

"Whassit," Tyler says, flailing a little, only to look up into the concerned eyebrows and chiseled jaw of freaking _Hoechlin_ , what the hell.

"Okay, he's officially alive," Hoechlin says, turning his head, which is when Tyler sees the cell phone held to his ear. There's a pause, and then Hoechlin rolls his eyes and says, "He was sleeping, Dylan, I'm not--are you kidding me? Seriously?" 

Another pause, and then Hoechlin grins in this exasperated way, covers the phone with his hand, and says, "Posey. Check your phone." 

Tyler blinks at him for a second, but Hoechlin just raises his eyebrows like _Go on_ , which, yeah, okay. He casts around for awhile until he feels the edge of his phone between two cushions, and he pulls it out, unlocking the screen and…oh. Shit. Ten missed calls from Dylan and a whole bunch of text messages, also from Dylan, all of which say some variation on either _Call me_ , _What's going on_ , or _TYLER_. 

"Shit," Tyler says, because he's the worst person alive, and then flails again when he sees a flash in his peripheral vision. He looks up in time to see Hoechlin make a considering face at the screen of his phone, grin at it, hit something, and then put it back to his ear. 

"Proof of life incoming," Hoechlin says, presumably to Dylan. "And also proof of guilt, because, yeah, pretty sure he hung up with you before and passed out. Will you go back to your party if I promise to deal with this?" 

"Sorry!" Tyler yells, but Hoechlin holds up a hand, apparently listening. 

"Yeah, okay," he says, and then, "Yes, I'll tell him," and then, "O'Brien, you are officially being ridiculous. I've got this. Go away." 

He hangs up, and then folds his arms over his chest, giving Tyler the kind of look that usually means he's trying not to laugh. Not that Tyler necessarily blames him, just now--Tyler _is_ kind of sprawled out shirtless across a couch that's half-covered with dirty laundry, and, also, god only knows what Dylan said to him. 

"So," Hoechlin says, and yeah, he's definitely trying not to laugh. "Dylan says he hates you and you'd better be okay and that he's going to kill you tomorrow, in that order."

"Shit," Tyler says again, wincing. "I really freaked him out, huh?" 

"Yeah, you really did," Hoechlin says. Then he shrugs one huge shoulder like that's no big deal and plops himself down on the coffee table. It creaks under his weight, which doesn't really surprise Tyler very much. He's done stunts with Hoechlin, and survived the week Dylan spent bitching about how much it sucked to hold him up in the pool. He knows full well that underneath the veneer of smiles and happiness lurks a whole fuckton of solid muscle. "So. You wanna tell me what's going on?" 

"No," Tyler groans, turning his face into the pillow again. "Leave now, I'm alive, we don't have to talk about this." 

"Uh- _huh_ ," Hoechlin says. He doesn't sound convinced, but then Tyler hears the table creak again, and receding footsteps. He brightens for a moment, until Hoechlin yells, "Posey! Why isn't there any beer in this fridge?" 

"I ran out!" Tyler calls back. "Because everything is terrible! This is why you should go!" 

"Oh, I'll go," Hoechlin says. Tyler, again, falls victim to a false sense of security, and actually thinks Hoechlin _has_ gone until he's hauled up by one arm. Hoechlin presses a shirt into his chest that Tyler thinks might even be clean, and says, "Yeah, you're coming too. I promised Dylan I'd get to the bottom of this." 

"I'm not going anywhere." 

"There's beer at my house?" Hoechlin tries. 

Tyler gives him a flat look, which Hoechlin meets with raising his eyebrows and smiling hopefully at him, and, hell. It's hard to argue with Hoechlin. And, also, with beer. "Ugh, fine." 

"That's the spirit!" Hoechlin says brightly, and pushes Tyler towards his own front door with one massive hand on his bare back. "Now put your shirt on and let's go be melodramatic somewhere else." 

\--

Hoechlin's house, Tyler remembers when he gets there, is pretty much the best place on earth. That's because Hoechlin's rules for property ownership kind of seem to revolve around proximity to beaches and hangout space. The (small, sparsely decorated, still half in boxes) inside of the house is almost dwarfed by the back porch, which looks out on the ocean and, against all odds, has a fully stocked working fridge chilling in one corner. Hoechlin's covered the entire thing with deck chairs and armchairs and a porch swing. Tyler's actually pretty sure some of the furniture out here was meant to live indoors, but he's never quite been able to bring himself to ask. 

"Smoke," Hoechlin says, when he walks over with two beers in his hands to find Tyler playing with the edge of his packet of Bugler. "So long as you don't do it inside, I don't care. Here." 

Tyler takes the bottle, and then a long, bracing sip of beer, before he shoves it into the nearest cupholder and starts rolling a cigarette. "Thanks." 

"Don't thank me yet," Hoechlin says, grinning wide and plopping down into the chair next to Tyler. He holds out his beer for a toast and then makes a, like, cheerfully wounded face until Tyler sighs and reaches out to clink their bottles together, so, yeah, Tyler’s probably screwed. Hoechlin will make him talk just by being Hoechlin. "Spill." 

"I don't want to." 

"Well, yeah, you've made that pretty clear," Hoechlin agrees. "What with how you called Dylan to tell him you couldn't tell him, and came with me after I told you I was going to make you tell me. Definitely sending the right signals for not talking about it." 

Bitterly, Tyler lights his cigarette. "Dude, you _made_ me come here." 

"You know what," Hoechlin says, "I'll wait, how's that. And you can tell me in your own time." 

Tyler scowls at him, but Hoechlin just gives him an easy, relaxed sort of smile and settles back into his seat, hooking a foot around a nearby folding chair and dragging it close enough to use as a footrest. He kicks his feet up and looks out at the ocean, eyes half-lidded, and sips peaceably at his beer while Tyler smokes his cigarette. Which, Tyler knows, is a dirty trick. It's a dirty trick of trickiness, because Hoechlin clearly thinks that if he just waits long enough Tyler will crack and fill the silence. But Tyler _won't_ do that, because he doesn't need to talk about this, not with Crystal and not with Hoechlin and not with _anybody_ and--

"I think I'm in love with Dylan," Tyler blurts out. Goddamn it. 

"There it is," Hoechlin says. Then, after a considering pause, "You think or you know?" 

"What?" Tyler says, leaning forward to boggle at him. "You're not going to like, be all surprised or anything?" 

"Not really very surprising, is it?" Hoechlin says. Then he purses his lips and adds, "Unless you want me to be surprised. For, uh, supportive reasons. Or something. I can do surprised, if you need that." 

"Ugh," Tyler says, flopping back in his chair. "No, I don't need you to be surprised. Jesus Christ, somebody could've like, told me that I was hitting on him." 

"We kind of thought you knew." 

"That's what Crystal said." 

"Oh, boy," Hoechlin says. He tilts his head back and laughs, and Tyler digs himself further into the chair, feeling small and stupid and kind of hurt, if he's honest. "Crystal knows--so I'm assuming Holland knows too? I bet you've had a fun couple of days." 

"Not really," Tyler mutters. 

Hoechlin sits up a little then, looking him over with a critical eye before he sighs and shakes his head. "Aww, man. I wanted to have some fun with this, but it's really tearing you up, isn't it?" 

"No," Tyler says, taking a vicious drag of his cigarette. Hoechlin just _looks_ at him, though, and eventually he sighs and snaps, "Fine, okay, yes. Yes! Yes. Fuck."

"Alright," Hoechlin says, putting his hands in the air. "I'll tell you what, I will put a moratorium on teasing you until you're a little less, uh, pathetic, okay? Let's go back to the basics: you think or you know?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"It matters a lot." This, Tyler can tell, is going to be one of those conversations where Hoechlin acts all Older And Wiser And More Mature than him, which is pretty ridiculous, since Tyler has totally seen Hoechlin throw up in the parking lot of a bowling alley. On the other hand, he'll probably tell Tyler what the hell to _do_ when he's done with the Serious Adult thing, which Tyler kind of needs right now. 

So Tyler lets go of his dignity and his pride and the part of him that is forever trying to prove to Hoechlin and Crystal and everybody that he's not immature just because he's not twenty-one yet, and says, "Why?" 

"Well," Hoechlin says, "for one thing, it's not really fair to Dylan if you're not sure, right? Like, if you think you love somebody, and you do something about it, and then it turns out you were wrong, that kind of puts that person in a bad spot." 

"Even if that person doesn't love you back?" 

"We're not at that part of the conversation yet," Hoechlin says. He sounds almost gentle, which is weird. Normally, Hoechlin sounds either friendly, friendlier, like he's laughing at you, or like he's pretending to be an angry alpha werewolf. "This is still about you. So: do you think, or do you know?" 

Tyler thinks about the way Dylan gets when he's tired on set, leaning into Tyler's hugs and shooting him sleepy smiles between takes. He thinks about the crazy shit Dylan TiVos and makes them watch when they're stoned, and how sometimes Tyler finds hilarious little cartoons tucked into his wallet when he's got a particularly hard day lined up for him. He thinks about the way Dylan smells and sounds and smiles, the way Dylan always laughs at his jokes and knows what he means, and sighs. The truth is, Tyler doesn't have to think about this at all. The truth is, he's known the reality of the situation for awhile. 

"I know," he says heavily. "I…yeah, I really, really know." 

"That's what I thought," Hoechlin says, "just making sure," and then he holds out his beer for another toast. 

Bemused, Tyler leans over and clinks their bottles together for the second time. "Wha--" 

"You're officially more evolved than, oh, ninety percent of men your age," Hoechlin says. "Have a drink. Have two! Celebrate yourself." 

Tyler stares at him for a second, and finds himself thinking of their earliest days of shooting, when Dylan kept breaking into Tyler's dressing room and hissing at him about how Hoechlin made him nervous. Tyler hadn't really known what he was talking about a lot of the time, but there was a lot of hand-waving and Dylan complaining that he couldn't tell where the sincerity bar was. Also, a lot of Tyler having to reassure Dylan that Hoechlin probably didn't think he was an overly sarcastic, spastic dick. Eventually Dylan had thrown his hands up in despair and said, "Ugh, you know what, I'm just going to take it at face value. I mean, that's gotta be the right call, right? This is a guy who was on _Seventh Heaven_ unironically." Tyler had kind of just nodded along, happy that Dylan seemed happier. 

He gets it now, though. What Dylan meant. It's pretty hard to believe that Hoechlin's for real right now, even though Tyler totally knows he is. He thinks about texting Dylan, and then remembers that Dylan is probably still mad at and/or hating him, and takes a drink instead. 

"So," Hoechlin says, "you've got these feelings, you know that you mean them, so the question becomes: what are you going to do about it?" 

"I don't know!" Tyler… okay, he kind of wails it. "Crystal said she'd buy me three days of Holland shutting up about it, but that was yesterday and he gets back tomorrow and what if I say something and he's totally weirded out? Or thinks that it means we can't be friends anymore?" 

"Does that really seem like something Dylan would do?" 

"No," Tyler says miserably. "What he'll probably do is be super nice about it and tell me that he's really sorry, but he just doesn't, I don't know, see me that way or whatever. And then he'll try really hard to be totally normal but I won't be able to do it, because I didn't _know_ before, but now I do, and it'll ruin everything." 

Hoechlin leans forward in his chair again and gives him a long, hard look. Eventually he sighs and shakes his head. "You've really got no idea, huh?" 

"No idea about what?" 

Sighing again, Hoechlin downs the rest of his beer and gets up. He grabs two more bottles from the fridge and sits down again, this time across from Tyler, as he hands the second one over and pops the top off the first. "You're putting me in a difficult position, I need you to know that." 

"Uh," Tyler says, raising his eyebrows, "…how?" 

"I don't like to betray confidences," Hoechlin says. He takes a contemplative swig of his beer, and then sighs again, says, "On the other hand, I can already see the comedy of errors that'll play out if I don't do something. Holland…well. I love her, but I don't know that she'll get that you guys are a little too young to handle her sense of humor well, not on something like this. Crystal too. Not that I blame them; it's easy to forget." 

"Dude, you're not _that_ much older than me," Tyler says, because there's a line, okay, and Hoechlin's twenty-five, not a hundred and five. "Or Dylan! Don't be weird." 

"Sorry," Hoechlin says, smiling at him. "But I kind of have to be, because you guys…ugh. Look. Posey. Have you really never noticed that he lights up when you walk into a room? That he does things like, well, calling me from London and demanding I go make sure you're okay?" 

"Well, yeah, but that's just," Tyler waves a hand, and then, when Hoechlin raises his eyebrows, adds, "That's just _Dylan_ , though. Like, he's just, you know, perfect and smiley and nice all the time and, and _Dylan_. It's just bro stuff, it's not--" 

"Uh, no," Hoechlin says. "It's definitely not just bro stuff." 

"How would you even know?" 

Hoechlin grins, shaking his head. "Okay, you're going to have to take my word for this, but when you're caught up in the Sterek sensation that's sweeping the nation? You, uh. Talk about where the bro line is." He winces at Tyler's uncomprehending face and adds, "Aw, man, please don't make me spell this out for you. He trusted me." 

"Trusted you with _what_?" Tyler's sitting up in his chair now, his beer abandoned, his cigarette burned down and forgotten in his hand. "Dude, come on, throw me a bone here." 

"How about this," Hoechlin says. "Do _you_ trust me?" 

"Yeah, of course," Tyler says, because, yeah, he really does. Hoechlin's kind of ridiculous sometimes, but it's hard _not_ to trust him--he's pretty much got Good Dude written all over his body. Even Tyler's mom, who tends to be wary of the Hollywood types Tyler makes friends with, refers to Hoechlin as a 'good egg.' And, sometimes, 'the hot one,' but Tyler tries not to think about that. 

One of Hoechlin's huge, heavy hands lands on Tyler's shoulder, and he says, "So. Can you trust me when I say that if you just _talk_ to Dylan about this when he gets home tomorrow, things will probably go pretty well?" 

"Uh," Tyler says, blinking. "I…guess?" 

"Great," Hoechlin says. He sounds like he really means it, too, sagging and releasing Tyler's shoulder with a relieved-looking grin. "So you'll talk to him?" 

"I guess so," Tyler says. It seems like kind of a daunting prospect. "How do I do that, though? I mean, do you just start with 'Hey, so while you were gone I kind of realized I was in love with you,' or are you supposed to like, lead up to it somehow?" 

"Hmm," Hoechlin says. He considers it for a second, and then, brightening, says, "I think you should make him dinner, actually. And clean your apartment, it's filthy. Not that I think Dylan will care, but it'd be a nice touch." 

"I _was_ cleaning it," Tyler mutters. "And then you kidnapped me." 

"You were cleaning with your eyes shut?" Hoechlin's grin is all shit-eating now, and Tyler's pretty sure the teasing moratorium has come to an end. "And none of your body parts moving?" 

"Shut up." 

"Fine, fine. I mean it about dinner, though," Hoechlin says, all serious-business again. "Candlelight is your call--" 

"Okay, what the hell, _no_." 

"Your call, like I said," Hoechlin says hastily. "But definitely dinner. And just, be honest, okay? And really clear. Really, really clear. And don't be surprised if he's kind of, uh, shocked. Because he thinks…you know what, nevermind, that's going too far." 

" _Dude_." 

"He trusted me!" Hoechlin says again. Then he rolls his eyes and, quietly, says, "C'mon, man. I've given you more than I should've already. You don't need to be freaked out about this, because you know what I'm saying here, if you really think about it. Don't you?" 

Tyler doesn't, but Hoechlin's giving him this intense, focused, Derek-y kind of look, so he sighs and does, in fact, really think about it. And really think about it some more. And finds that he's having trouble not thinking about it, because if it's not bro stuff--the way Dylan looks at him and texts him late at night and emails him music from the next room and hides the remote from him and refuses to give up its location until Tyler tickles it out of him and is always letting Tyler hug him, touch him, even looks at Tyler sometimes in this way that Tyler knows means that he wants, _needs_ that--if it's not bro stuff, then, well. Then it's probably something else entirely. 

"Yeah," Tyler says, kind of breathless and shocked and thrilled, all at once, "yeah, I know what you're saying." 

"Great," Hoechlin says, grinning again. "Can we go inside now? Dylan made me turn off the Dodgers game to come get you; if we hurry, we can probably catch up with the recording in time to watch the end live." 

\--

**Tyler Posey to Dylan O'Brien, 10:45 PM PDT**

sorry about before :( 

**Dylan O'Brien to Tyler Posey, 1:20 AM PDT**

Hey! Sorry, don't know if you're still up, I was asleep. Don't worry about it. I shouldn't've gotten weird. 

**Tyler Posey to Dylan O'Brien, 1:23 PM PDT**

i thought i was the one who got weird??

**Dylan O'Brien to Tyler Posey, 1:25 AM PDT**

Call it even? 

**Tyler Posey to Dylan O'Brien, 1:26 AM PDT**

sweet. when do you fly out?

**Dylan O'Brien to Tyler Posey, 1:28 AM PDT**

Not until later. Should be home around 7 if there aren't any delays 

**Tyler Posey to Dylan O'Brien, 1:30 AM PDT**

awesome!!! passing out now. can't wait to see you

**Dylan O'Brien to Tyler Posey, 2:01 AM PDT**

Yeah, me neither. 

\--

Tyler has a weird day. 

Well, okay, no. What Tyler really has is a weird afternoon, because his morning is totally normal except for how he spends it kind of drifting in between worrying about Dylan getting back and being pumped about Dylan getting back. He gave himself a firm talking to when he got home from Hoechlin's last night, because it seemed like the thing to do, and he's come to a decision. He's just going to be honest with Dylan. He's not going to try to look back on their, like, entire friendship and try to pinpoint which parts were either or both of them expressing more-than-bros feelings, because he'll only drive himself crazy that way. There is no need, Tyler knows, to drive himself crazy. Hoechlin said so, and Tyler's pretty sure he's right. 

So the morning is fine. He sleeps in and has cereal for breakfast and does some of his laundry and spends like an hour looking for the vacuum before he remembers they broke it awhile ago--all normal enough. Nothing noteworthy in the weirdness department. 

It's 12:30 when he hears the knock on his door. That's when things start to get strange. 

"Hoech," Tyler says, blinking at Hoechlin's huge grin. And then, after a second, at the bucket full of cleaning supplies in his hand. "Uh, what're you doing here?" 

"I'm going to help you clean your apartment!" Hoechlin is radiating sincerity, which, while not exactly surprising, is kind of unsettling. "Because it kind of looked like you could use some help." 

"Yeah, I could. That's awesome, thanks," Tyler says. He feels his brow wrinkling in confusion even as he says it, though, and adds, "Uh, can I ask…why, though?" 

Hoechlin shrugs. "Good Samaritan?" 

"One time you locked me on a hotel balcony," Tyler points out, but he steps aside to let Hoechlin in. "In my underwear. _And_ took pictures. I'm not sure how Good a Samaritan you can really be." 

"I didn't post the pictures anywhere," Hoechlin says, looking genuinely hurt. "And that was hilarious, you even said so." 

"Yeah, it totally was," Tyler admits, giving up and grinning. "You really wanna help me clean?" 

"I really do." 

So Tyler spends three hours cleaning his apartment with Hoechlin. Even that isn't _that_ weird--well, no, that's a lie, it's totally weird, because Hoechlin turns out to be a like, intense cleaning person. Who sings intense cleaning songs. That he makes up while he cleans. He's…not really very musical, but Tyler doesn't have the heart to tell him that, or that there are better rhymes for "scrub" than "blub." He takes a bunch of video on his phone to show Dylan later instead, and then, after the first hour passes and he's starting to worry he might go insane, hooks his iPod up to the speakers. Hoechlin's got an okay singing voice, so long as he's singing other people's music. And avoiding falsettos. And, okay, no, the truth is that Hoechlin is terrible at music and should never even try, but Tyler is willing to put up with a lot for how clean he's able to get the counters. 

Although. That's kind of the other weird thing, because Hoechlin seems sort of _really intense_ about getting the apartment spotless. Tyler was mostly just planning on clearing some floor space and getting rid of all the dirty dishes hiding under the couch--possibly by throwing them away--but Hoechlin is not having any of that. Hoechlin actually _finds their mop_ , which Dylan bought for part of a Halloween costume last year and which has never been used for cleaning, and makes Tyler mop the kitchen floor. He also, upon the realization that the vacuum is apparently missing in a permanent way, goes out and buys a vacuum. And then comes back. And vacuums with it. 

"Okay, dude, for real, what is going on?" Tyler says at the three-hour mark. Hoechlin has stopped cleaning because there is literally nothing left to clean; the last time the apartment looked this nice, Tyler and Dylan were moving in. But instead of leaving, Hoechlin's spent the last ten minutes kind of…hovering, looking at Tyler like he's going to say something and then shaking his head and walking away from him again. "You're acting really weird." 

"Yeah, I probably am," Hoechlin says. He grins and shakes his head, picking up his bucket of cleaning crap and putting it on the coffee table. "I'm going to get out of your hair, but I'm leaving this for you, alright? Consider it an early birthday present." 

Tyler doesn't pout, but it's a close thing. "But you said you'd get me wasted for my birthday. This is a downgrade." 

"I get you wasted when it's not your birthday," Hoechlin points out. "I mean, that's still on the table and everything, we're definitely getting you nice and sloshed for the big 2-1, but it's not like I haven't been enabling your underage drinking for months now." He makes a face, and Tyler almost feels bad, because he knows the underage drinking thing makes Hoechlin feel guilty. "The cleaning supplies are a bonus. Maybe try to use them every once in awhile?"

"Uh, okay," Tyler says. He walks Hoechlin out, giving him a bemused little smile as he opens the door. "So…thanks again, I guess? For your help? This was really nice of you." 

"Sure," Hoechlin says. He should, by all rights, _leave_ at this point, but instead he reaches out a hand like he's going to put it on Tyler's shoulder, drops it again, and shakes his head, smiling. "Man, I just cannot figure out the right way to do this. This is why you shouldn't get involved in your co-worker's personal dramas; you just end up getting invested." 

"Are you on drugs?" Tyler says, meaning it. "Seriously, what?" 

Hoechlin lifts a closed fist in the air, the knuckle of his index finger sticking out, and like…shakes it at Tyler in a considering way. Like he's eighty. Or, like, a hundred and eighty. "It's like the end of a soap or something, oh man. Just--be good to each other, alright? You and Dylan, I mean."

"Uh," Tyler says, "yeah? I mean, that was…kind of the plan…" 

"Right," Hoechlin says. Then he gives Tyler a brief, hard hug and a blinding smile and turns to go, walking down the hall to the stairs with a spring in his step. 

"What. The. Hell," Tyler says. No one, save the smell of Pine-Sol, answers him. 

\--

After careful consideration, Tyler makes chicken flautas for dinner. He thinks about doing something fancier, but scraps that plan on the theory that he knows Dylan likes chicken flautas and--perhaps more importantly--Tyler is 100% sure he knows how to make them. It's soothing, heating the oil and softening both sides of the tortillas, shredding up the chicken and spicing it more or less at random, rolling everything up with some cheese on top and sticking it all in the oven. His mom taught him to make these when he was in high school, looking to impress his future prom date with the ability to produce food without a microwave. They're easy, and they look nice, and they're pretty much always delicious. 

Of course, they also finish cooking before Dylan gets back. Tyler turns the oven off and leaves them in there to stay warm and then looks around for something to do. He comes up kind of short, because Hoechlin put all their movies and games away somewhere. Tyler hasn't figured out where yet, and he's thinking about calling Hoechlin to demand their location when he sees his acoustic guitar strategically placed in the far corner. 

"What the hell," Tyler says, not for the first time today, and stares at it. He knows for a fact that it was in its case before Hoechlin showed up, because one of the strings needs replacing and Tyler hasn't gotten around to doing it yet. The lunatic must have gone and found it, and Tyler figures this is probably like the candlesticks he did actually find on his table after Hoechlin left. Everybody he knows is ridiculous. And strange. And ridiculously strange. 

On the other hand, it _is_ something to do with himself. Tyler shrugs off the oddities of his friends and busies himself with changing his E string. It doesn't take very long, and neither does tuning the guitar, and soon Tyler finds himself sprawled on his back across the couch, picking out random tunes. 

He realizes, after awhile, that he's picking out the piano part of _Closing Time_. That kind of throws him for a second--it's not a bad song, he likes it a lot, he's just not sure why he landed on it--but he goes with it, switching to the guitar line and tweaking it around a little. It might, he thinks, be a fun cover, if he sped it up and rocked it out a little harder. He bets he could get the band to go along with it, too. They like nineties music, and it'd be a good encore song. 

It's nearly eight when he hears the door bang open, and Tyler tosses the guitar aside and more or less bounds towards the front of the apartment. He tries to skid to a stop when he's about three feet away, because he's probably supposed to be playing it cool or something, but he kind of winds up almost braining himself on the wall as a result. 

He catches sight of Dylan before he can even worry about that, though, and suddenly everything--the freaking out and Hoechlin's weirdness and Crystal's judgment and the impending Holland-ification of everything--stops mattering at all. Dylan looks like he just spent eleven hours and change on an airplane by himself, which _really_ means Dylan looks he like just spent eleven hours and change forcibly not sleeping because he's always afraid he's going to drool on a stranger. There are circles under his eyes and a gigantic coffee stain running down one side of his shirt and his hair is all over the place, and his suitcase is totally about to fall over, and he's grinning at Tyler like Tyler's the best thing he's ever seen in his life.

"Hey," Dylan says. "Miss me?" 

"Are you kidding?" Tyler says, smile so big his cheeks hurt, and crashes into him. They kind of hit a little harder than they're supposed to for a proper hug, because Tyler's excited and Dylan's trapped against his now-fallen suitcase, but it's fine. It's good, because they shift and then Tyler's got an armful of Dylan, warm and familiar and sagging into him like he never wants to let go, and it's like everything that was freaking Tyler out before never even happened. 

"I was next to a fan on the plane," Dylan says against his ear, and shudders. "I mean, she was nice, but…eleven hours. Is a long time. So I've decided I'm never leaving this apartment again. Cool with you?" 

"Totally," Tyler says. He nuzzles his jaw against Dylan's neck for a second, and then decides he should probably stop doing that until they've at least had a conversation. Now that he knows it's not bro-stuff, this physical thing between them, he kind of sees Hoechlin's point about being fair to Dylan. He steps away and grins. "I even made you dinner." 

"What, really?" Dylan's eyebrows go up like he's waiting for the punchline, but Tyler just grins at him. After a second, Dylan's eyebrows go from curious to suspicious, and he looks over Tyler's shoulder and then…blinks. A lot. "Dude, the apartment is clean." 

"Yeah," Tyler agrees, because, yeah, it is. 

"Like, really clean," Dylan says slowly, stepping past Tyler to walk around. He winds up in the kitchen and pokes one of the counters like he's not sure it's real. Then he opens the oven, shuts it again, opens it back up, shuts it for a second time, stares down at the floor, and says, "Did you _mop_ this?" in this weird, cracking voice. 

"Yeah," Tyler says again, proud this time. "With that mop that you used for Halloween last year, I totally didn't even know you still had it, but--" 

"Are you moving out?" Dylan says, at pretty much the exact moment that Tyler registers that he doesn't look proud of Tyler so much as terrified of him. "Oh my god, that's why you called me last night, you couldn't tell me because you wanted to do it in person--" 

"Whoa!" Tyler says, waving his hands. "I'm not moving out! Unless--you don't _want_ me to move out, do you?" 

"No!" Dylan says, a little wildly. "No, just…I kind of don't know what to think here! Like. You made me dinner! You made me _flautas_ , that's like, real food, and you cleaned the apartment and it's. Like. Really, really clean! I don't think it's been this clean since we moved in here!" 

"Hoechlin helped," Tyler admits. "He's kind of intense about cleaning, as it turns out. Also, he sings while he works. Not well, but he totally does." 

"Okay, but _why_ ," Dylan starts, and stops. He gives Tyler a long, open-mouthed look, and then says, "….wait, really?" 

Tyler nods at him, grinning. "I took video." 

"Oh my god," Dylan says. "Okay, if you promise you're not moving out--" 

"I'm _not moving out_ , Dylan--" 

"--then we can go back to why the hell it's so clean in here in a minute, I have to see this," Dylan finishes, making grabby hands for Tyler's phone. 

Laughing, Tyler hands it over, dropping a plate of the warm-if-not-hot flautas on the counter in front of Dylan a minute later. He'd eaten his own portion when they finished cooking, because Hoechlin might have wanted him to do wine and candlesticks and everything, but Tyler was pretty sure Dylan would want him to eat if he was hungry. Sure enough, Dylan pauses in between huge bites of food and huge gusts of laughter to say, "Wait, you ate already, right?" and then grin when Tyler nods. "Just making sure. Are there more? Tell me there are more." 

Fifteen minutes later, Dylan's laughed so hard there are tear-streaks on his face, eaten every last remaining flauta, and stopped looking at Tyler like Tyler is going to up and abandon him at any moment. Tyler decides to consider this a success overall, and, after some consideration, not to yell at Hoechlin. He'd been right about the food, if not about the cleaning. That probably averages out to a win. 

Of course, then Dylan says, "So, uh, do you want to tell me what's going on now?" so, hey, maybe not. 

Tyler swallows hard, all his nerves coming back at once. Dylan's looking at him with a combination of curiosity and concern, and Tyler knows Hoechlin said this would be okay, knows Crystal said everyone's kind of thought they were together for months, and has even pieced together what he thinks Hoechlin was trying to tell him, but still. With Dylan in front of him, eyes wide and gorgeous for all they're lined with exhaustion, it's hard not to think about how wrong this could go, how awful it would be to screw this up. 

_Be brave_ , Tyler tells himself, and says, "So, uh. You left." 

"That's true," Dylan says slowly. "But I... came back, so… ?" 

"Right, no, I know," Tyler says, "except… Hoechlin said some stuff about like, absence making the heart growing fonder or something? But honestly he also said some stuff about soap operas so I don't know how much I really trust him." 

"Tyler, what--" 

"It was just kind of like, you left!" Tyler is fucking this up, he can tell. Dylan's looking at him like he's terrifying again, and Tyler knows thats not supposed to happen, but he kind of can't stop now that he's started. "And then you were gone and it sucked, okay? Like, it sucked a lot. And once I started thinking about why it sucked I kind of, um, figured some stuff out, and I don't want to like, weird you out or anything, but I….uh." 

"You what?" Dylan's voice is strangled and his eyes are _huge_ and Tyler's just going to have to do this, isn't he, before he chickens out entirely. 

"I think I kind of love you," Tyler blurts out, and then he takes half a step forward and leans in, pressing his mouth to Dylan's with his eyes screwed firmly shut. Dylan's lips are soft and warm and closed against his, not moving but not resisting either, and for a second everything is perfect, just from that. 

And then Dylan pulls away, takes an entire step back, and says, " _What_?" 

"Fuck," Tyler says over the roaring in his ears, the humiliation and the horror and the realization that this is probably it, for their friendship and their roommate-ship and, also, Tyler's life. This is going to be how he dies, because nobody can live through feeling like this for more than a couple of days; heartbreak can totally kill people, who knew. "Fuck, fuck, I knew this was going to--" 

"Are you fucking with me?" Dylan doesn't sound strangled anymore. He's hit this high-pitched, dangerous place instead, and he doesn't look freaked out so much as…hurt, Tyler thinks, which doesn't make any sense at all. "Are you? Because this isn't, we can't like, I can't _joke_ about this. This isn't funny to me, man, okay?" 

"I'm not joking," Tyler says, blinking at him. "What the hell? Why would I be--" 

"But you never," Dylan waves his hands, looking badly shaken, "I was always, I mean, I was so obvious even my--I--never mind! What are you…what are you talking about? What do you mean you love me, I swear to god, if you're not serious right now--" 

"I'm serious," Tyler says, starting to get it. Dylan's still looking at him like he's maybe going to explode or something, though, so he reaches out and grabs Dylan's hands out of the air, catching them and pulling them to his chest. "Hey! Dude. I'm totally serious. I'm, uh, kind of more serious than I've ever been about, like, anything. I probably should have figured it out sooner, honestly, but I'm not…I wouldn't screw with you about something like this, Dylan. I love you. Like, I really love you."

"Oh my god," Dylan says, staring at him. Then he blinks so hard his whole face kind of scrunches up around it and blushes to the roots of his hair, and Tyler can't help but grin. "God, sorry, this is not like…this is not the way people are supposed to respond to this kind of thing, is it? I'm, shit, I'm really, the plane was weird and London was weird and then I thought you were moving out and Hoechlin sent me all these really bizarre texts and I, just--you-- _what_?" 

"Dylan?" 

"Yeah?" Dylan says, more squeak then word, and Tyler feels his grin shift down into something else, a small, soft smile he doesn't think he's ever given anybody before, not for real. 

"Can I kiss you again?" Tyler says quietly. "Because if not, you should probably tell me. Like, right now." 

"No, yeah, kissing, definitely want to, let's do that," Dylan says, strangled again and too fast and right up against Tyler's mouth, because he stepped forward the second he heard the _Yeah_ , on the theory that everything else could wait for another time. 

It's kind of awkward for a second, Dylan's lips stilling against Tyler's when he stops talking while Tyler kind of tries and fails to figure out how far he's supposed to be taking this right now. Then he lets go of Dylan's hands, and suddenly Dylan's all _over_ him, his tongue swiping against Tyler's bottom lip and one hand coming up to cup his cheek, tilt his head back for a better angle. Tyler lets him, because Dylan is taller than he is and now _his_ hands are free too. He wraps a palm around one of Dylan's hips, slides his other hand up into Dylan's hair, drinks down the little noise Dylan makes as he opens his mouth. Dylan tastes like that ridiculous medicated chapstick he's always buying and airplane coffee and Tyler's flautas, and that should probably be gross. Instead it makes Tyler's fingers tighten at Dylan's hip, makes his whole brain come alive with thoughts of where this could go, where it's already going, until he's panting into Dylan's mouth and pulling him as close as he can get him. 

"Holy shit," Dylan says, breaking away just enough to lean their foreheads together. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy _shit_." 

"I know what you're thinking," Tyler says, mock-serious, "do we use your bedroom or mine," and Dylan's laughter fills the whole apartment, loud and ringing, like a welcome home. 

 

**Epilogue**

The whole cast meets up at Hoechlin's house on their collective last day of freedom from _Teen Wolf_ 's crazy shoot schedule, to celebrate and/or dread their fates. They're all going to be doing a lot of late nights and early mornings for the next few months, so they figured they might as well get their party on while they had the chance. Tyler's not really sure how this resulted in day-drinking, though. They're probably going to end up day-drinking a lot in the near future, because it's going to be the only time they have _to_ drink. Maybe they're just trying to get a head start?

Whatever. It doesn't matter, because it's three in the afternoon and Tyler is drunk off his ass and that's not even illegal anymore. Life? Is good. On his left, Sinqua and Hoechlin are beating a seriously outmatched Colton and Holland at beer pong, and on his right, Crystal is sitting in Daniel's lap yelling at passing tourists. Tyler can hear Gage and Keahu giggling about something inside the house, and he doesn't really have to look to know that Ian and J.R. are taking weird Instagram photos together. Everything is pretty much exactly as it should be, except--

"Give me your sweatshirt," Dylan says, wrapping around Tyler from behind and putting his chin on Tyler's shoulder. "California's totally betraying me with this weather, I was going to swim and everything." 

"You're trapping my sweatshirt," Tyler points out, leaning back into him anyway. "And don't lie, dude, you were not going to swim. You never swim." 

Dylan burps in his face, apparently as punishment for that comment, which is so completely disgusting that Tyler grins and elbows him in the side. "I swim sometimes. Don't be all, you know, lying and shit. I am a champion swimmer!" 

"You are so drunk," Tyler says, fond. "And dancing at the edge of the water doesn't count as swimming." 

"What do you know about what counts," Dylan mutters, tightening his grip on Tyler's waist. "It's…synchronized swim dancing. Synchronized dance swimming? Dance synchronized ocean adventures." 

"You're embarrassing yourself, O'Brien," Hoechlin calls over his shoulder. 

" _You're_ embarrassing yourself!" Dylan calls back, but he doesn't sound like he means it. In Tyler's ear, he adds, "I'm thinking about the videos. The singing videos. I think we should save them until the right moment and then deploy them to the masses. Or, like, the crew, at least." 

"I don't know that it'll really do anything," Tyler says, giving Hoechlin a considering look. He's just sunk a shot, and he's got his gorilla arms over his head in triumph with no concern for how ridiculous this makes him look. "I think he's kind of like, embarrassment-proof." 

"Who's talking about him, I'm talking about bringing joy to our coworkers," Dylan says. "Maybe for Christmas. You want another beer?" 

"Sure," Tyler says, because, yeah, why not? He expects Dylan to disentangle himself and head for the porch fridge, which Hoechlin still hasn't put somewhere else. Instead, he starts pulling Tyler backwards towards the house like some kind of demented barnacle. The harder he pulls, the harder Tyler laughs, which eventually gets Dylan laughing, and by the time they finally break apart and just _walk_ into the empty kitchen, they're both howling. 

"You're ridiculous," Dylan says, bright and warm and still laughing a little, pushing Tyler against the fridge with one hand splayed over his chest. "Like, so ridiculous, dude." 

"I think you win," Tyler says, lifting his eyebrows. "And you're blocking the beer. With, uh, me." 

"Did I say I wanted a beer?" 

Dylan looks too innocent by half, and Tyler's already starting to grin, unable to help himself, as he says, "You did, man. You totally said that." 

"Well then," Dylan says brightly, "I lied," and then they're kissing, warm and wet and stupid with it. It's probably not the kind of thing they should get in the habit of doing, making out at work parties like this, but…well. This isn't really a work party, because technically they're not shooting yet, and, also, it's Hoechlin's house. It's gotten pretty hard for Tyler to take Hoechlin seriously as an adult since things got official with Dylan, mostly because Hoechlin tells them regularly that he thinks they're adorable and keeps inviting them out on double dates, sometimes with people Tyler's pretty sure he's just picking up for the sake of taking him and Dylan out. Dylan's explained that he may have spent, like, the last couple of years using Hoechlin as his own personal Dear Abby for all his Tyler-related feelings, but that hasn't exactly cut into the insanity of it all. 

Or the insanity that is the fact that Dylan apparently spent _two freaking years_ in love with Tyler without saying anything, but Tyler's learning not to dwell on that one. It makes him sad to think about Dylan driving himself crazy. Also, it makes him feel like a total idiot, no matter how many times Dylan says it's his own fault for not speaking up. 

But that's not the kind of thing that matters right now, not when Dylan's pressed up close against him, not when they're only kind of kissing because they're both grinning too wide to really manage it. Tyler catches Dylan's bottom lip between his teeth and bites down gently, a playful little scrape of teeth, and Dylan laughs and bites Tyler's _upper_ lip in retaliation. That should be weird and unsexy and isn't, because Dylan takes things that should be weird and unsexy and makes them totally hot instead, and Tyler finds himself crowding Dylan back against the counter, meaning to kiss him properly. 

"Say cheese!" someone says brightly, and Tyler turns just in time to see the flash on Hoechlin's phone go off. Crystal's leaning against Hoechlin's right side, looking smug, and Holland's on his left, looking mostly bored. "Aww, look at that, Posey. You've got the were-eyes, it's like you're already in character." 

"You guys are creepy," Dylan says, while Tyler grins and shrugs at Hoechlin. "And party-crashers. And…you suck." 

"The kitchen is for beer, not sex," Holland says, breezing past them to get to the fridge. "Ask anyone." 

"Except Posey," Crystal says, grinning wickedly at him. "I bet he was voting for kitchen-sex too." 

"We have our own kitchen for that," Tyler says, absolutely as loftily as he possibly can. He threads his fingers through Dylan's, because Dylan is blushing like he's pretending not to be mortified but totally is anyway, and Tyler knows him too well to leave him to fend for himself while drunk and embarrassed. "Sometimes people just kiss because they love each other. Or they feel like it. Or both. Not everything's a sex thing." 

"The bird and the bees with Tyler Posey," Holland says, sounding like she's not sure if she's charmed or mortified, while Crystal rolls her eyes and Hoechlin puts a hand over his heart. Tyler doesn't really care what any of them think, though, because next to him Dylan's squeezing his hand, burying his face in Tyler's shoulder. 

"That was the I love you kind of kissing," Dylan says, when the rest of them have gone away. "Well, and because I felt like it. But mostly the first thing." 

"Yeah," Tyler says, grinning big and wide and helpless, "I know it was," and Dylan kisses him again, just the once, before they go back out to the party.


End file.
